


Take Me To The Rapture

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Archivist Jonathan Sims, Body Horror, Body Worship, Canon Asexual Character, Codependency, Desolation Avatar Tim Stoker, Elias Bouchard Must Die, Flagrant Misuse of God Powers, Frottage, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Pyromania, Romance, and keeping coffee warm, everyone but Jonah Magnus lives lol, like warming your boyfriend with low circulation's hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tim makes it out of The Unknowing.  Although he's a little different, he's feeling better than ever.The AU where Tim lives, gets hot and bothered (paranormally speaking), and is going to kill his terrible boss.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 178





	1. The Melt

Tim has always had a little bit of a mean streak. It wasn't ever so broad a line that he would cause permanent harm, but a cotton-thread-thin in the way that he would be written off as more of a little shit than an outright bastard.

But all of that was done. Standing in that room, detonator in hand, and a wild grin on his face and, “I quit!” on his lips, he had never felt such glee for ruining someone’s hopes and dreams. He should have known better.

He supposes it's no wonder he attracted The Desolation. He thwarted a plan that took so long _(decades, years, months)_ and so many were taken in its name, and all of that potential went up in flames, and smoke, and _heat._ He may as well have written a love letter like he was in high school again, offering a blowjob behind the bleachers. Everything is white-hot pain and vicious triumph before it's bliss and he can Feel It.

Along with his mean-streak, Tim is also a pleasure-seeker. He cared less about Knowing and more about Feeling. He was always trying to Feel Good, from a steady stream of sex, to indulgences in alcohol, to anything he could get his hands on that would enhance the pleasure. He wasn't a stranger to pain, don't get him wrong; a little pain could be fun, even as good as pleasure, so long as there was a payoff. He needed gratification like air. He just couldn't thrive without it. Now, The Desolation is so _pleased_ and in such pleasure that it shares its ecstasy with him. Tim knows he's screaming, laughing, sobbing with it. He feels his skin running liquid and hot, his body soft and pliable under the crushing, binding _heat._ It's bliss. Such a complete rapture that Tim has never felt and immediately wants to never stop; and it doesn't quite completely. It simmers down, burns slowly in his chest like a candle, and Tim opens his eyes.

He's standing in the still-burning wreckage of the museum, the mannequins liquid wax at his feet. He looks at his hands and watches them run, knowing his face is doing the same, and grins because he knows now that it wasn't so much the Institute that ruined his life, but the man running it. 

Tim walks out, upright and fine, and opens the door. He watches as the place shrivels and melts around him and shivers with the waves of heat that now feel so pleasant and lovely around him. It all feels like love, and Tim has never been anything but a romantic. He thinks that might have been why he never really flourished in the Institute. That place is all logic and diagrams and Knowing, but Tim has always been the one that trots the line between the head and the heart.

He walks out the front door easily, grinning at the sun. The fire brigade has just shown, and a man has just started running to him before stopping. Tim doesn't have to see past the mask to know there's terror on his face because when Tim takes a step toward him, he takes one back.

Tim chuckles and walks past, stopping at the man's side before leaning over. “You'll want to let it burn a bit longer. There are worse things than me in there, sweetheart. Try not to let them out”. Then, because Tim has just a bit of a mean streak, he pats the man’s shoulder and watches him yelp in pain as his soft, candle-wax hand presses heat against and burns through the protective gear just enough to leave a little, gentle burn on his shoulder. Not so much he might need medical attention, of course, but just a bit. It probably wouldn't even scar like Jon’s hand.

And then, Tim walks. His skin cools, he shifts it back, and he walks.

Places don't have potential, but the people inside? The people that run the place and tug strings to make their puppets dance? _They_ do.

And Tim knows exactly who he's going to feed to his fire next.


	2. Repose Before Resurgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim goes back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this does have some sexual content in this one. Also Jons not in a coma lol sorry.
> 
> EDIT 5/24: Sorry guys I haven't been able to write a satisfying end to this, so tbh just use ur imagination. I actually ended up liking this chapter as a conclusion so I'm sticking with it. I know I initially put that there would be 3 chapters but sometimes shit happens lol sorry. Check the end notes for the ending I had planned if ur curious.

He walks through the main front door of the Institute easily. “Good morning, Rosie!”

Rosie looks up. She's a pretty young thing, and dressed primly as usual. Her face flickers in blatant surprise. “Tim! You’re early! I thought you quit? Elias said not to expect you!”

His grin wants to falter but only his lip curls a bit. “Yes, well, Elias doesn’t know _everything,_ as much as he likes to pretend. Do you think you could let me in?” he says pleasantly, trying to keep his face friendly and not… melt it. He rather likes Rosie and doesn’t relish the thought of traumatizing her.

“What happened to your card, Tim? And what happened to _you_ for that matter; you’re covered in ash!”

Her confusion is palpable but Tim easily laughs it off. “Some building went up in flames yesterday and the ash is still whisking about in the air. Nearly wore a mask!” he says, using his practiced grin. He waves a hand, and sheepishly pulls his plastic card out, now a melted puddle of color and black ash in his hand and sets it on the counter for her to see. Rosie takes it carefully, and her neatly manicured eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Would you believe me if I said I accidentally put it in the toaster this morning rather than the bread?”

At this, her concern melts away to amusement and she laughs with him. It nearly feels like old times. “You’re lucky your whole flat didn’t go up in flames, Tim!”

Tim can’t help but laugh at this. “You said it! I’m much too handsome to die in a fire! There’s no way to leave a good-looking corpse behind that way!”

Rosie shakes her head with a final, soft laugh and waves him to the side. “Well, we may as well retake your picture then. Here: brush yourself off while I set up the camera,” she says, handing him a soft brush. 

Tim watches the ash fall to the floor from his shoulders and feels better than ever. “Might I borrow your mirror, Rosie, dear?” he asks.

Rosie nods, pulling a larger collapsible one out from under the desk. He knows she keeps it there because sometimes she runs late and doesn’t have time to do her makeup. He’s done his own with her plenty of times. He checks his face and smooths it out. He'd already done it right before he left, but he wants to make sure it’s perfect. There’s no point in being a monster now if he’s not at the least a sexy one.

He softens his cheeks a bit and uses his fingers to do gentle corrections to the skin, fat, and cartilage, as well as brushing ash from his hair and restyling it. He runs his finger over his warm skin, feeling the pores and fine hairs there and takes a long look at himself. At his tan skin that’s been slightly pockmarked with scars on one side, His hazel eyes with a small slice of blue in the left one, his charming freckles that smatter across his nose and cheeks, his smiling lips and straight teeth, and his light chestnut hair that’s just got a bit of red in the morning rays of the sun. Even when he knows everything is perfect and just right, he still turns his head side to side, checking and rechecking himself. He knows everything is right, just where it was/always has been, but something’s still different. It takes him a moment to recognize it, but he realizes it’s just _him._

Sighing, Tim pulls away and straightens his button-up and tie. “Don’t sigh like that! You look as nice as you usually do!” Rosie chides, smiling reassuringly. “Although, the dark shirt is a bit new… red is definitely your color though”.

Tim feels a bubble of warmth in his chest that has little to do with the flame that’s been lit. He hadn’t been exactly sure, but he thought the burgundy paisley button-up and solid red tie was nice. Maybe it was his new affinity for heat and appreciation for fire, but he found red a rather attractive color. Nearly burning to death can change a man, and he’s lucky to escape with such a minor change as a color preference. “Thanks, Rosie. I guess I’m feeling a little insecure today is all”.

Rosie gives a small, sympathetic smile. “Oh, Tim. It’s okay, these things happen. I promise I won’t make you look like an idiot”.

“Well, I don’t know if that’s possible, but at least make me look like a handsome one!”

Rosie laughs and takes his picture when he grins and stands straight. While waiting for it to finish printing, he reads an interview in a trashy magazine about plastic surgery and tries to keep from laughing while leafing through the pages.

“Here you are! Try not to toast this one,” Rosie teases, tapping his new ID to the counter with a click.

Tim looks down at his smiling picture and smiles back to it.

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


Elias is already in the Archives when he comes in.

“Hello, Tim,” Elias says, his voice smooth. He stands tall and aware, and Time feels all eyes on him, though they are alone.

“Morning, Bouchard,” Tim says, because he only calls Jon ‘boss’.

“I thought you quit?” Elias says, watching carefully.

“I don’t know where you heard that from, but I guess you were wrong”. Tim manages a little heat in his feather-soft tone. It’s petty, but Tim is a petty person. There's a bit of heat escaping him, held back by sheer force of will and years of practice being charming. The slight smell of smoke clings to the air, though Elias doesn't comment.

Elias’s eyes flash with interest. “Well. Welcome back”.

“Thanks!” Tim chirps, grinning. He raises a hand to pat his boss’s shoulder, but Elias steps away with a wry smile. Tim pouts. “What? Not a fan of contact?” Elias fixes him with a look and he shrugs, raising both hands placidly and backing away. “Well… I had to try, didn’t I?”

Elias hums. "I suppose you did, didn't you? Have a good day, Tim". The head of the Institute gives him a last, long look, and turns away.

As soon as he leaves, Tim spitefully turns a chair to a puddle of metal and has to fix his face for the third time.

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


He hears Martin scream before he sees him.

Tim looks up from his hot oatmeal he’s been eating over a magazine. “What?”

Martin looks about to cry. “T- Tim?!”

Tim looks to the corner of the room and back to Martin. “Yeah?” he says with the spoon in his mouth.

“I- How- What are you doing here?!” He looks ready to faint or have a heart attack.

Tim looks back down to his hot cereal and looks back up to Martin’s distressed face. “...Eating oatmeal?” he says slowly.

Martin actually _does_ burst into tears. “Oh, I’m- I’m so glad you’re alright!” he cries, shuffling forward clumsily to wrap his arms around Tim’s shoulders.

Tim feels his heart twist and warm with affection in his chest. “Aw, Martin! You big softy! I’m fine!” He has to wave his hands a bit to let the heat dissipate before he pats his friend on the back.

Martin pulls away and his pale eyes are checking him over, just to see if it’s really him, and he says, “But how? Not that I’m _ungrateful_ , but you… You…”

“Blew myself up?” he suggests. Martin nods, looking a bit like he might cry again and bites his lip. “I got better”.

Martin stares. Then he laughs. Then at last he buries his head in Tim’s shoulder and clutches him like a lifeline. “Don’t ever blow yourself up ever again! Don’t you dare get yourself killed! We already lost Sasha, Tim, and I don’t want to lose any more of my friends. My social circle is tight enough as it is, and if it gets any smaller I’ll become a recluse”.

Tim’s chest feels terribly warm at that, and he hugs Martin tight. He really did give the best hugs. “Okay. I will try not to die and not get better. Speaking of small social circles, have you seen Jon? I’ve got to talk to him. Looks like with my survival we’re… a bit similar now”.

Martin pulls away, staring at him strangely. “How so?” he asks cautiously, holding his elbows gently.

“Remember Jude Perry?” he asks, trying to keep his tone positive.

Martin’s eyes widen. “Oh, Tim…”

“It’s actually pretty good,” he admits. “At least I’m not a murder-cultist. Just a… I guess I’m a little crazy. I mean, feel fine now but who knows how long that’s going to last?”

Martin nods, then stiffens his posture. “We’re all here, Tim. We’re all supporting you! Or, I am at least, and I know you’re mad at Jon, but I’m pretty sure he will too”. Martin’s eyes turn a bit sad. “He… He’s been in his office since you…”

Tim watches his friend trail off awkwardly. “Ah”.

Martin nods. “Yeah. He… He took it pretty hard, Tim. Be gentle with him won’t you?”

Tim huffs. “Gentle? What, you think I’ll be rough with him?” he says with a suggestive raise of his brows.

Martin rolls his eyes. “I just- I know you were really angry at him, and I know how you can be- have been- so just play… nice. Please?”

Tim appreciated that about Martin a lot before his whole world went to shit. He was always willing to put his personal feelings aside for the sake of everyone else’s comfort. He just had a way of helping people feel better, and yes, he had loathed it near the end, but now he felt nothing but warmth. Being a pleasure-seeker, he hadn't ever done it much save for when it came to Danny or small things, so to see Martin do it on a regular for nearly everything had given him a new appreciation for people like that.

“Okay, Martin. I’ll try,” he says, because Martin’s got a soft heart and Tim is trying to turn a new leaf.

Martin sags in relief and sighs. “Thank you, Tim, I-”

A door opens behind him. “Martin,” says a familiar voice that has Tim smiling, “Who are you-?”

Tim turns to face him, smiling warmly.

Jon drops his mug.

“Hey boss,” Tim says, still smiling, “How about we take this to your office, hm?”

The Archivist manages a strangled sound, and curses, looking down at the shards. “Damn it-” His eyes jump between Tim and the broken mug, mind caught in what Tim used to call a ‘Jon Loop’ where his brain would just spiral in anxiety and societal faux pas and he didn’t know what to do so he did nothing.

Martin rushes over, ever helpful, the one to always smooth the bumps and says, “It’s fine, Jon, I’ll get it. Go talk. You both have a lot to say”. His coworker gives him a meaningful look and rushes away for a paper towel and broom.

“Ah- Yes, thank you, I um… Alright”. Jon stands still and just stares.

“...Can we…?”

Jon startles and nods. “Er- Yes, let’s”.

They make their way into Jon’s office. It looks exactly the same and Tim feels so distant he wants to laugh.

Jon closes the door and says nothing.

It’s silent for a long time. Tim pulls out the chair usually used for people giving statements and sits. He hears the tape recorder click on without anyone touching it. Jon sits across from him, staring at him like he might disappear at any moment. He opens his mouth a few times to say something but closes it again. Tim waits with a patient smile and focuses on the flickering candle in his chest, but even waiting gets old. “Well?” Tim says, wanting to get a bit of a move on.

Jon shakes his head and bends over his desk, leaning his forehead on the bridge of his hands.

“Nothing to say, huh?” He knows he sounds a bit bitter, but he can’t help it. He’s still _Tim_ after all.

“What can I say, Tim?” Jon croaks, his voice rough. He takes a shaking, staggering breath and realizes with no small amount of surprise that Jon is _crying_.

He’s been Jon’s friend for a long time, and his best friend for even longer, (though that was probably because he was his _only_ friend) but in all that time he has never once seen Jonathan Sims cry. Even when he’d seen Jon and he thought he was alone, Jon had never cried. He kept calm and quiet and his voice would get low and sad and sometimes even guilty, but he never cried. Never even came _close._

Then he sees the amount of tissues in the bin next to Jon’s desk and realizes that Jon has _been_ crying. Crying over _Tim_ and if that wasn't just the most flattering thing!

“I thought you were dead,” he whispers, his sobs quiet but shaking his foundations. “I thought you were _dead_ ”.

“I thought I was,” he says and his throat is dry. "I definitely intended to be but... it didn't really work out". He had wanted Jonathan Sims to hurt before he tried to blow himself to kingdom come. He had wanted Jon to feel like shit, feel anxious and terrible like _he_ had, but looking at him now…

“I know you don’t forgive me,” he says, voice cracking and breaking. Tim pulls a tissue from the box and leans over, handing it to his friend with two fingers, tapping his head. Jon covers his face with one hand and takes it with the other, wet knuckles shining with tears. “I know you probably hate me; but honestly? I’m just so glad that you’re okay”. Jon looks up and wipes his wet face, tears pooling in his dark brown eyes.

Jonathan is so human now. He remembers thinking he was cold and frigid once upon a time, but he’s changed so much. He’s tried so hard; all of them have. He’d been mad, he remembered, because Jon hadn’t been considering him and hadn’t been there after Prentiss’s attack. Hadn't been considering how he had suffered so much right alongside him. Has suffered just the same as he had, maybe even worse because he actually lost things he valued (and yes, Tim knew that was petty, but he'd spent a long time worrying over his scars!).

But that was then.

This is now.

“Jon,” he says gently, and smiles. His heart burns in his chest, so hot and warm and fond that he can’t help the way he melts. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter”.

Jon’s eyes go wide and his mouth is open just a bit. Some look of horror and guilt and a hundred other nameless emotions sprawl across his face. His lips form Tim’s name but no sound escapes them.

Tim leans forward and takes Jon’s hand that’s dropped the tissue down to the desk _(the same hand that had been scarred by another of his like)_. At the touch, Jon panics, seemingly aware once again and tries to pull his hand away. Tim holds fast, reassuringly, and smiles. His friend’s rabbit-fast breaths slowly calm as he realizes the lack of pain.

“Jon,” he says again, soft and loving and wanting so badly for Jon, who felt so terrible, never thinking of his own pleasure, to feel as nice as he does. “It doesn’t matter. None of it”.

Jon looks up from their hands. Tim feels his own tears sizzle and steam in his eyes. Jon is staring at him with wonder. “What?”

“None of it matters. Do you understand? Do you know what I am? I'm free from that _thing,_ Jon. That’s all I wanted”. His eyes close and he feels the Rapture in the flame inside him, in his chest, in the melting wax, in the Candle burn so bright and hot.

“I couldn’t help you,” Jon says, tears building in his eyes again. He pulls Tim’s hand to his face and presses it into his palm because _yes,_ Tim’s skin is melting and he’s not the same exactly, but he’s _alive_ and _real_ and Tim knows it’s what Jon needs. He needs to be Jon’s candle for now, just for a while. Jon presses his cheek into Tim’s soft, waxy hand and shivers. Tim feels himself run and melt around him, his hand making room for Jon in it. "I couldn't help you and you got attached to something else".

“You helped me so many times before, though,” he says. "Besides, this one feels so much better. I actually feel good now, Jon. I feel like I'm going to be okay again. I just wanted it to end, you know?" Tim looks away, though not in shame and says to the file cabinets, "I think I thought that if I couldn't feel good, I just didn't want to feel bad and... Well, when there's one way out, there's one way out, you know?"

“I’m just so _sorry,_ Tim”.

The sound of his voice breaks his heart. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “It’s all okay. It was just too much”.

“It was too much for all of us,” Jon murmurs, lips pressing to his hand. They shiver. “It’s no excuse”.

“I know,” Tim says. “And I hated you. You were being a right bastard. But it doesn’t matter now. I care, Jon, and I know you do too. That’s all that matters”.

Jon laughs and it cracks. “It can’t be that simple”.

Tim frowns and huffs. “Oh yes, because blowing myself up was so easy?”

Jon flinches and pulls his face away from Tim’s hand in guilt. “I’m-”

“If you say ‘I’m sorry’, then I’ll kill you,” he huffs without feeling. He knots his fingers in Jon’s feeling himself melt around him. It’s strange, and fascinating, and feels so warm. Jon’s hands had been cold, but Tim warmed them easily. Jon drew a line in his knuckles and it stayed before melting and evening. “It’s fine. Jon, I’m free now. I’m not tied like the rest of you. I think my connection just… went up in flames,” he says with a laugh.

Jon gives him a withering look, but his lips quirk at the edges. “Only you would make a terrible joke like that”.

Tim winks. “Now I’m hot in more than one way, am I right?”

Jon just smiles and shakes his head.

“I mean it,” Tim says. “When I blew that fucked up Cirque de Suckers to hell, I… Jon, it was _amazing”._ His voice is hushed and he leans forward, meeting his eyes to Jon’s. “It felt so fantastic. So good. It was better than sex, and that's a _lot_ coming from me; and while I was in there, I realized something”.

“What did you realize, Tim?” Jon asks, in a hushed, slightly afraid tone.

Tim smiles and feels his skin run and drip and melt. “None of it matters. We care. We all care about each other, Jon. You, me, Martin, Basira, hell, even Daisy and Melanie. We’re a team, Jon, and… None of our issues matter. It just matters that we’re all here. That we’re all holding onto each other and not letting go. The rest is just… smoke". Tim laughs softly, a thin plume of it escaping his mouth. "It’s just smoke, Jon”.

Jon laughs softly, and watches their hands. Then, he nods. They’re both silent a while, just feeling each other, tethered by their hands, when Jon finally speaks up. “So… You’re really Tim?”

He sounds so hopeful. “Compel me,” he says instead of what he'd meant to.

Jon looks up, eyes wide.

Tim smiles. “Will you really trust me if I don’t say it when I can’t lie?”

Jon watches him warily. “Jude could resist it”.

“I’m not Jude, and I won’t resist”.

Jon hesitates, but then Tim can feel the static crawl up his spine in shivers when Jon’s eyes turn gold and he says, **“Are you really Tim?”**

And Tim doesn’t hesitate at all when he says, “Yes”.

Jon visibly deflates in relief.

Tim reluctantly pulls away, letting his skin cool and tense again and tugs him to the entrance to the tunnels.

Jon’s eyes are wide. “Tim?” he asks.

“We should get going, Jon. Somewhere where Bouchard can’t stick his damn nose,” he says carefully, if a bit hushed.

Jon blinks and then nods seriously, following him down and into the dark. Tim doesn’t lead them far, just far enough not to feel watched and eventually he breathes a sigh of relief and turns.

“Jon,” he says calmly, “I want to kill Elias”.

Jon’s eyes widen in the dim light of the torch. “What?”

“I want,” Tim says, walking forward.

Jon steps back even as Tim presses into his space.

“To kill”.

Jon steps back until he’s pressed to the cold stone of the tunnel wall.

_“Elias”._ Tim grasps Jon by the front of his shirt.

“We-” Jon stutters and Tim can see his mind stumbling frantically through dark corridors of its own. “We can’t! You heard him, if he dies then- then everyone dies! I’m not- We can’t sacrifice anyone else!”

Tim can’t help it: he laughs. “What, and you trust _him_ to tell you he’s got a weakness? Come _on_ , Jon, when has Bouchard done anything but lie?”

Jon squirms in distress. “How will I get... for lack of a better word food? And more importantly, who's going to run the Institute? I know it seems… petty, but we do bring a bit of comfort to some people. I never really appreciated it before, but I do now, I think, though how much of that is my new nature or _me_ , I can't tell”.

“Uh, you? Duh”.

Jon flusters and his eyes go wide. “Wha- _me?!_ Come on, Tim, be serious! I don't know a damn thing about running an institution!”

Tim frowns then, pressing closer. “You wouldn't be worse than _Elias._ At least your interest in murder is minimal, and that's at worst. The worst you’ve ever done is traumatize strangers”.

Jon doesn't say anything to that, though he does look doubtfully into the wall past Tim’s head. “And get you killed,” he mutters quietly under his breath. “You say it doesn’t matter but… Tim, how can you _really_ believe that?”

Tim feels love purr and pool like hot wax in his ribs. He feels it trickle down and between them from the candle in his chest and send threads of warmth through him. “But I didn’t,” he whispers, moving closer. He’s pressed to Jon completely, hands that gripped his collared shirt now pressing down it, hand moving to Jon’s and feels the scar along the palm left by Jude. It really wasn’t fair that it was left by her and not him. He should leave his own mark. “But I didn't die. And even if I did, I had wanted to. Do you understand now?” he says, so soft in Jon’s ear. He feels him shiver, feels the sweat on his chest seeping through his shirt from the heat, can sense the beads forming on his brow and neck and watches in the dim light how they evaporate in his breath on Jon’s neck. “None of it matters. I'm alive. You're alive. We aren't who we used to be, and that's okay. We can't go back. It's not possible, so it doesn't matter. We can still make this good, Jon. Make it good and _right._ I know you want to fix it. I know you want to make your ideals true. Make them True”.

Jon shivers under the words, under the heat, under Tim and he feels such love. Jon’s the only one he really wants to Know him now. He's the only good one, he can see that now. Before, he didn't care. He just wanted to be angry and burn the whole place around him with everyone in it. Now he knows he can have his cake and eat it too. “Compel me,” he decides. “Compel me to tell you why I think you should run the Institute”.

Jon grits his teeth and static hisses between them. He can see Jon’s brown eyes glare gold with reflected light in the dim tunnel and shivers. **“Why do you want me to run the Institute, Tim?”**

It starts as an itch and turns to a tingle of _want_ in the back of his throat and Tim knows exactly what Jon wants to know. _Why him?_

Tim moans, and ducks his head into the crook of Jon’s neck and it takes everything in him not to burn Jon’s body into him, into the wall, and in his struggle, he turns soft as wax and lets his skin run against Jon who whimpers against the _heat._ “Because you were my friend,” he says, and it feels so good to tell him. He knows it's the Compelling, but Tim is nothing if not a pleasure-chaser and feeling the thrill of being Known and Seen muddle and mix with the burning Rapture inside him is a bliss so heavenly he never wants to stop. He feels Jon tighten against him, every muscle taut in shock. He grinds himself against the Archivist’s thigh and knows Jon can feel his hardness but he _doesn't care,_ because being Known is so much more _intimate_. “Because you're like me. Because I don't want to be a monster alone, and I don't think you do either. Because I want to keep what's left of myself safe and human and so do you. Because I love you, and because I know you actually _care._ Jon, we can do this. We can _win._ This place is fucked up, I won’t lie to you, but it’s ours. You said it yourself: we can bring comfort. That’s the best we can do. We can’t get rid of Them, even I’m not stupid enough to think we can kill whatever those are, but we can kill _him_ , and make sure he can’t fuck the world up any more than he already has”. He presses his lips to Jon’s neck and hears his breath escape in a gasp, his hands coming up to clutch at his back, twisting his fingers in his shirt.

“You sound deluded,” Jon gasps, trembling against him but turns his cheek to press against his. His skin melts and molds to Jon’s and he shivers with the strange feeling.

Tim sighs and his breath leaves a black scorch mark on the stone next to Jon's neck. “We can do it, Jon. We’re monsters now, but we can… we can keep the humanity we have left. We can control it. The world is just going to be how it is, Jon, but we can at least keep arseholes like Bouchard from fucking it up even worse”.

Jon laughs and presses his face against his shoulder. “Alright. Sure. What’s the plan?”

Tim pauses and then laughs sheepishly, his skin cooling on reflex. “Um… no plan yet”.

Jon pulls away and looks at him in disapproving shock. “Tim!”

Tim shrugs with a noncommittal noise, still hugged close to Jon. “It’s been, like, a day! What do you want from me? I’m not as smart as you!”

Jon sighs, patting Tim’s shoulder. “It’s okay. We can do this. I think we should wait for now, but we definitely need to pool our resources. Maybe even outsource”.

“What do you mean?”

Jon smirks and his eyes flicker gold. “The enemy of our enemy is our ally, and I’m pretty sure nobody likes Elias. I've someone in mind”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think! :)
> 
> EDIT 5/24, THE UNOFFICIAL END: Jon, Tim, Martin, Melanie, Daisy, Basira, and Helen get together in Helen's corridor and make their plans. Mostly goes as is in the show until the Panoptopiss and then Helen swoops in and opens her door behind Peter so he falls in and she gets to have him as a snack :) Elias is distracted by Martins attempt to kill him and focused on trying to implant info in his head about his mom that he doesn't notice Tim, who's come out of a door Helen opened. He burns Elias down to his eyes which he takes with him back to Elias's old office where Jon is now. Jon eats Jonah's eyes and gets his info in some weird way idk it sounded cool and gross in my head haha. Jon had been looking at all the paperwork and essentially tells Tim he doesn't want to be the boss so instead Martin volunteers since he's good at that and nobody would complain about being tied to Martin bc while he's a manipulator, he's also a very nice person who actually gives a shit about everyone. Also Tim gives Jon a victory bj and they live happily ever after the end :)


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